A Simple Matter Of Repayment
by lilsherlockian1975
Summary: Sherlock keeps finding himself at Molly's flat around dinner time. After weeks of this, something... happens. The consulting detective finds an interesting way of dealing with the aftermath. (Post TFP) This is a two parter.
1. The GIft

_Yes, I'm sure you all just as shocked as me that I'm posting a Sherlolly story. The good news (if you enjoy my stories) is that I have an actual poop load of unfinished fics sitting in my laptop just waiting for inspiration to strike. The bad news is that I have an actual poop load of unfinished fics_ _sitting in my laptop just waiting for inspiration to strike_ _... sigh. I'll get there! Many thanks to MizJoley for betaing this little story. Bless her!_

 _I'm gifting this to broomclosetkink. Hope you like it, sweetness! Hugs._

 _This is basically PWP. I should have part two up within the week._

 _I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

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 **Chapter One - The Gift**

Sherlock owed many people debts. John Watson, for instance. The man had saved his life on several occasions and Sherlock had at least tried to pay him back as best as he could. Though he didn't really worry over it. John knew what he was getting into when he became Sherlock's blogger. John needed the excitement. That in and of itself was some form of payment.

He and Lestrade had a symbiotic relationship. Greg supplied the cases that Sherlock needed to sate his curiosity and in exchange the DI got his damn cases solved!

Mrs. Hudson had been paid in advance when he made sure that her abusive drug lord husband died in America. Though that didn't seem to extend to bullet holes in her precious walls.

He could never repay Mary. It was impossible. He did his best not to dwell on that.

Molly Hooper, she was a bit of a problem. The woman had done so much for him over the years. He had tried to repay her for her unfailing loyalty with respect and professional admiration. Her friendship he repaid with the massive amount of trust he had in her. She knew things about him that even John wasn't privy to. But recently she'd given him a gift so unexpected that it had taken him almost two weeks to find the appropriate form of repayment.

Now, he found himself outside Molly's door with a plan and a fair bit of apprehension. He really was of two minds concerning his decision. Though he felt he'd come to the correct conclusion, and a plan of execution, he had to admit that carrying out said plan was another matter altogether. He didn't like being pulled in two directions, hated it in fact. Embarrassment was telling him to turn around and leave, never come back (perhaps even move to the Continent). But a sense of duty and honor (not something Sherlock often cared much about) told him to raise his damn hand and knock on the sodding door!

He was genuinely confused.

It had all started several weeks before when he found himself, once again, at the pathologist's flat around dinnertime; a growing trend, it seemed. He had no real reason to be there. Though he'd stayed with her after his jump from Barts, and had used the Deptford flat for a bolt hole on several occasions, that evening he'd just showed up and suggested something for dinner. He had had no other purpose for being there.

 **Nine weeks prior...**

He realised as he watched Molly place several pieces of sushi and sashimi on her plate, that this was the fourth time in two weeks that they had dined together. _Odd_.

He took his plate to the lounge, sitting on what had become 'his end' of the sofa, and started to eat. Molly followed, however didn't immediately dig into her food. No, first she systematically took apart a Philly roll, removing the cream cheese (then licking the remnants from her fingertips) before moving on to the next. She did this with all five rolls on her plate, carefully reassembling them after each cheese extraction.

It was fascinating. He was utterly entranced.

Why order a roll with cream cheese if she had no intention of eating it? _This Is How We Roll_ (ridiculous name for… well, anything) certainly would have made her sushi the way she wanted it.

"Molly?" he said interrupting her careful dissection.

She looked up, sucking a bit of cheese off her thumb and causing his mouth to go ever so slightly dry then said, "Yeah?"

"What are you doing?" he asked, a bit confused. Clearly she liked the cheese, she kept (gulp) licking her fingers like mad.

"Fixing my sushi. Why?" Her expression was that of pure innocence.

"Why did you order a Philly roll? You clearly don't like cream cheese on your sushi."

"Well…"

"For instance, you could have gotten California roll," he continued.

"I didn't want crab; I wanted salmon," she said matter factly. "Besides, _do_ I like cream cheese."

"Just not on your sushi?"

She smiled brightly. "Precisely."

"Why didn't you just order the roll _without_ the cheese?" He was getting frustrated.

"Not really sure, I've always just taken it off."

Sherlock sighed. "It never occurred to you that you could order your sushi the way you liked it?" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are a fully qualified pathologist, a member of Mensa and, frankly, one of the most intelligent people I know, yet you never thought to simply order your Philly Roll _without_ cheese?"

Molly's face lit up. " _Sherlock…_ that is the sweetest thing you've ever said to me!" She leaned over and kissed his cheek. When she pulled back he noticed the lovely blush that had covered her cheeks. "Soy sauce! Be right back," she said before hopping up and scurrying off to the kitchen.

He had somehow managed to compliment Molly whilst criticising her sushi ordering ability _. Hmm, look how charming I can be. And I wasn't even trying._ He had to make himself stop smiling when he heard her reenter the room. It wasn't the moment for smugness.

After they'd finished eating and Molly'd washed their dishes, she got up and said, "I'm off to bed. I have to go in early."

Sherlock felt an odd sense of disappointment that their evening was being cut slightly short.

"Just lock up when you leave or when you go to bed. The spare room's always available," she said before slipping into her room.

Things had progressed from there: more dinners, more of Molly's smiles and worst of all, more feelings that he didn't know what to do with. It was all John Watson's fault. His best friend was quite busy with his little Rosemund and Sherlock often found himself at loose ends. Well, at least that's what he told himself (it sounded better than 'lonely'). Suddenly eating take-away alone at Baker Street had little to no appeal. Even when he tried to tell himself that he'd stay home - _not_ go to Molly Hooper's flat around the evening meal - he still managed to find a reason to hop into a cab, all the while hoping she hadn't yet eaten.

Molly almost always went to bed before Sherlock left. He couldn't quite figure that out. And after their sushi night, she was suddenly free with her kisses. Once their meal was finished and the dishes take care of, she'd get up and, placing her hands on Sherlock's shoulders, press a gentle kiss to his cheek. This routine varied according to her schedule. If she was off the following day they would stay up later, talking, sometimes arguing about cases or scientific journal articles they'd both read. Occasionally they'd watch some inane television programme. They even talked about life in general. He'd never known how passionately Molly felt about women's issues and politics. He found it oddly fascinating. It should have bored him to tears. He shouldn't have cared one iota. But he did.

Nearly two months after the cream cheese incident, they were sitting on her sofa, when Molly turned to him and said, "You seem more stressed out than usual. Wanna talk about it?"

He was stressed. But he couldn't talk to her about it because she was the cause of his anxiety. Their dining ritual, coupled with the giant elephant in the room (the fact that they never had spoken about the 'I love you' phone call), had his mind reeling.

 _Why did I not just explain why I had to say it?_

Of course John had talked to Molly, relaying the facts of the events. But John couldn't have expressed how speaking those words out loud and making her say them back had made Sherlock feel. He himself wasn't sure he could properly explain it. Too much time had passed and now it was almost too big to talk about. And even though being around her made him feel conflicted and confused, he couldn't bring himself to stop… whatever they were doing.

"It's nothing, Molly," he responded. "No need to worry."

"Well I do, of course," she said with a soft smile, then she got a curious look on her face. "Will you let me… try something?" Nervousness suddenly radiated from her.

"What exactly?"

"Well, I always thought you came over here to sort of… escape from, I don't know, being Sherlock Holmes or something. If you can't relax here then…" she trailed off, then she shook herself. "I just want to try something that might help you relax."

He took her in for a moment. She was wringing her hands and biting that damn lip. The lip habit was frankly driving him to distraction. "Fine. But I'm not in the mood for some poorly acted period drama. The last one nearly killed me. I don't care how fond you are of kilts!"

"No. Nothing like that," she said with a giggle. Then she got up and left the room.

She returned with a bowl of water, a couple of hand towels and a small brown bottle. She set the water next to his sock clad feet on the floor and knelt in front of him. Then she placed everything else next to her and looked up. "This is going to involve touching. Is that okay?"

His mouth went dry, as dry as he could remember it ever being. After swallowing hard, he said, "I suppose."

Molly nodded. She then removed his socks and rolled up his pant legs. After soaking one of the small towels in the water, she preceded to wash his feet and legs, thoroughly, halfway up his calves.

 _Okay, I can deal with this_ , he thought. _It's not overtly sexual_. But of course it _was_. He'd never been (at least in his adult life) washed by another person. Well, he had received a spit bath or two whilst in hospital. But Nurse Velma certainly had nothing on Molly's dexterous little fingers. As a matter of fact Velma was downright hostile and more than a little heavy-handed with her scrubbing technique. _Also, the halitosis…_

Suddenly the 'foot washing' was finished and she carefully dried both feet. That's when he found out about the contents of the bottle. _Massage oil_. Molly poured a small amount of oil in one hand then rubbed it into the top of his left foot.

 _All right, this is quite lot of touching_. His body tensed even as his foot seemed to melt into Molly's hands. It was a strange feeling.

She must have sensed his tension even though she was only touching his foot, because she looked up at him with apprehension and a bit of amusement in her eyes. "It's not going to work if you don't let yourself enjoy it, Sherlock." Her thumbs dug into the sole of his foot. "Just relax."

He relented, resting his head on the back of the sofa with a deep sigh. Just then he felt Molly start working the oil further up his leg. _Achilles Tendon, soleus, gastrocnemius muscle_ … he named off in his head each time Molly's hand touch a different body part as a means of distraction. It felt good. _So bloody good._

"You okay?" he heard her say, though he didn't dare look down, just kept his eyes closed and tried to regulate his breathing. He needed to get himself in control, his body was reacting (and reacting in a way he wasn't completely unaccustomed to), but it would be humiliating to have to explain his sudden erection to the woman trying to give him a foot massage.

"I'm fine, Molly. That feels…" _Splendiferous!_ He swallowed. "You're right, it is relaxing. But there's no need to continue…"

"I've only done one foot, Sherlock. I'll not leave you uneven," she said with a giggle.

Then he chanced a look down at his pathologist and found her smiling up at him from between his splayed legs.

 _Mercy…_

She looked so innocent, yet somehow seductive at the same time. Now focused on the task of 'relaxing' him (really...how he was supposed to relax when the woman was inches away from his swiftly engorging penis, he didn't know!), Molly had a look of concentration on her sweet face.

 _Deep breath, Sherlock. You can do this. You didn't even pop one in Irene's sitting room with her fully on display!_

Several wonderfully torturous minutes later it was finally finished and Molly was wiping her hands off on a towel. "Feel better?" she asked, still kneeling between his legs.

"Indeed," he answered, silently praying that she wouldn't notice the tent in his trousers (the longer she had rubbed, the _more evident_ his problem had become) or that he could think of a logical reason (other than the obvious) for hugging one of her floral cushions to his crotch.

That was too much to ask, of course. Either he was right about the non-existence of a higher power or the deity was angry at him for his denial. His prayers went unanswered.

She looked at his lap. "Umm… Sherlock?" she said, wide-eyed. For several moments she just stared, seemingly entranced by his erection, unable to look away. Finally she spoke, directing her words to the clothed bulge in his trousers. "That... doesn't look very... relaxing." Her voice was soft and a little rough.

He had no response, far too embarrassed at his body's reaction to a simple foot massage.

"Would you…" She looked up, meeting his eyes. He'd never seen anything like it before. Desire was burning back at him and he knew at that moment that he mirrored her expression. There was no way to construct a mask of indifference whilst she looked at him like she wanted to consume him. "Would you like some help?" she whispered.

How exactly does a man answer that question without sounding like a letch? Of course he wanted some help! He also wanted to run back to Baker Street and hide under his blankets!

Somehow his baser instincts kicked in and answered for him. Having not been used in such a long time, they seemed to have some difficulty forming words. "Wh-what d-did… what did you have in m-mind?" he stammered.

She bit her damn lip as her eyes shifted back to his hard cock and said, "I have a few ideas."

 _Blood...y hell!_

"Why don't you just lean back and close your eyes?" she said, sliding her slightly trembling hands up his thighs.

Closing his eyes, he decided that was a pretty good idea. Looking at Molly, watching her, was proving to be a bit too much.

When he felt hot breath against his still clothed cock, he couldn't help but buck upwards. It seemed he was no longer in control of his own body. Those instincts were attempting to take over, completely. Then he made his first (or tenth, depending on how you looked at it) mistake: he peeked!

Molly's mouth was descending on him, then kissing his erection through his tailored trousers (he wasn't wearing pants… _thank Christ_!). Her hands made a slow ascent up his hips, to his oxford shirt. He was burning alive (and dearly hoping that she had plans of removing said shirt!). He was more than grateful that he'd taken off his suit jacket earlier in the evening.

Once again closing his eyes, he felt her working the buttons, slowly. He wasn't sure if she was trying to torture him or just apprehensive. The latter seemed more likely, considering Molly's personality.

With a tug, his shirt was pulled from his waistband, the last couple of buttons dealt with, then he felt her mouth pressed against stomach. He groaned, digging his fingers into the sofa cushions and trying not to thrust his erection up against her chest. _Oh!_ he suddenly thought. _How would it feel to slide my cock between those little perky breasts?_ _Fuck_! She palmed his prick as she moved further up his body, gently licking his nipple. His cock twitched as she closed her lips around the small bud.

She continued to rub him through his trousers as she switched sides, this time adding her teeth to the equation. It was just a simple graze at first, then she bit down, applying more pressure until Sherlock heard an odd sound. Molly sighed around his sensitive flesh, her free hand digging into his hip. Suddenly he realised that his hands were in her hair, stroking, cupping the back of her head, holding her in place with no memory of placing them there. He heard the sound again and it dawned on him that the sound was _him moaning her name_ (or something close to her name), along with a plea for more. _God, she made me beg,_ he thought as she moved to his sternum, kissing and nipping down his body. _Irene would definitely be impressed._ He hadn't begged once with the dominatrix. _Perhaps Molly could give her a few pointers_. With a cringe, he realised that thinking about another woman whilst Molly was turning his brain inside out was more than rude, it was disrespectful. Then he couldn't think anymore because she had finally opened his fly and slipped a hand inside his trousers to find his hard prick.

Molly abandoned his member to pull down his (tighter than strictly necessary) trousers. When the cooler air of the room touched his cock Sherlock sucked in a breath.

"Umm… Sherlock?" he heard and looked down to see what the problem was.

 _Of course._ He lifted his hips, allowing Molly to tug the garment off of his hips. She apparently wasn't content with allowing them to pool at his feet. After removing them completely, she once again focused on working her way slowly back to his cock. _Oh no!_ He was watching her again. Sensation was one thing, but actually seeing what she was doing to him seemed to make it far too real. He closed his eyes tightly as he raked both hands through his hair.

Her hand was warm and soft as she gripped him again, firmer this time, with obvious intent. The first touch of her tongue to the tip of his leaking glans caused his entire body to jerk, almost as if he wasn't expecting it. Then he felt her tongue teasingly tickle the base of his cock before licking up the length of it.

 _This is it!_ He was about to be engulfed in that hot little mouth. Those sweet lips… that tongue… would she use the slightest amount of teeth just like he... _Where'd she go?_ Her mouth had disappeared. He very nearly groaned.

"You doing okay?" she asked, her breath ghosting over his hard, heated flesh.

 _NO! I'm not okay! I want this more than heroin! More than Mrs. Hudson's snickerdoodles! More than the code to the lockbox where Mummy keeps all the photos from my 'heavy metal hair phase'!_ (He was certain she had at least one of him with more than a little bit of eyeliner and plenty of hairspray!)

Opening his eyes and glancing down at her with what he _hoped_ was a look of cool indifference, he froze. She looked angelically erotic, like some sort of unholy (or completely holy, depending on perspective) union of innocence and debauchery. He cleared his throat in order to buy a moment to compose himself then said, "Of course," in a voice that sounded much rougher and slightly desperate, despite his efforts.

She smiled sweetly, then wrapped her hand around him once again and slowly pumped, applying perfect the pressure. "As long as you're enjoying it." She stroked him with slow deliberate confidence. "I don't want to make you…"

"Enjoying it? Yes, yes. It's…" _Stupendous, magnificent, majestic, resplendent, fan-fucking-tastic!_ "...fine"

"Just tell me if it makes you uncomfortable for some reason, kay?"

 _How could I possibly be uncomfortable? What fool had ever critiqued her hand job capabilities? She's a natural! Or is it experience? Damn, now I'm jealous._

Suddenly Sherlock was picturing Molly, her hand on some faceless man's member as he barked out orders: ' _Tighter, Hooper! Focus on the head, twist your wrist on the ascent! And for God's sake don't forget the balls!'_

As if his thoughts had compelled her, Molly's free hand found his scrotum, cupping him then petting his fur almost reverently. _Fuck me! She's got ball handling skills too!_

His head fell back against the back of the sofa once again as he let the dual sensations take over. It was wonderful. At that point, if his cock never made it into her mouth he could still die a happy man.

When her lips closed around the tip, Sherlock was certain that he was about to embarrass himself. But Molly, in all her brilliance, tightened her hold at the base whilst slowly slipping him further into her mouth. She took him deep. Really deep. Really, really… _Oh my God!_ "Fuck Molly!" he called out as he looked down at her.

She was focused, eyes closed, lips stretched around his girth (which was pretty impressive, if he did say so himself!).

He couldn't help himself, once again his hands found her hair, digging his fingers in and thanking whoever was listening that she'd forgone her usual style in favour of loose locks for the evening. Her hair felt so natural under his fingertips.

As her mouth moved up, she twisted his length in her fist, her movements made easier now that it was spit soaked, glistening with her saliva. Sherlock moaned. Molly hummed around his cock, causing shocks to ignite his up spine. Her technique was very different than he'd experienced in the past. This wasn't about speed or even depth. She varied her approach in an effort to either find what he liked or keep him guessing. Whatever the purpose…. He loved it!

Soon enough he found himself bucking up into her mouth, calling out her name as he held onto the back her head. She ever-so-lightly grazed him with her teeth; he tightened his fingers in her hair.

"Oh God! Molly… yes...like that… fuck… _fuck…_ yes! Let me come. Let me come in your pretty little mouth!"

She hummed again and he took it as agreement. _Good_! He wanted her to have it all. His baser instincts were now fully in control. Nothing of Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, was left at that moment. Right then he was just a man who wanted to come down a woman's throat. She'd earned his seed and she was about to get it!

Prying his eyes opened, he looked down, needing to seer the image in his mind just one more time. She was watching him too, her eyes wide and pleading. He felt his bollocks start to rise, and Molly's hand tug them down.

 _Brilliant…_ his mind sighed as lightning struck, whiting out his vision. His body tensed and shook with pleasure. He unloaded, grunting her name. The feeling of her esophageal muscle working as she swallowed his seed was more glorious than he could have ever imagined (and he certainly had imagined!).

When his spirit (which he wasn't sure was something he actually had, but at that moment it seemed possible) returned to his body, he looked down to find her licking his slowly softening member. Once he was tidied up, she sat back on her heals and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"I… um... " She stood.

 _What's wrong?_ he wondered, unable to speak. He was too tired and sated to deduce a damn thing at the moment.

"Ahh, just, you know, lock up when you leave or go to bed." Leaning over him (his head was still resting on the back of the sofa), she kissed his cheek. "Night, Sherlock."

Then she was gone. Just like that. She had sucked his soul out through his cock and left with a soft ' _Night, Sherlock_ '.

This required thought…

* * *

 _So... how will he handle this? Perhaps not exactly how you think. Please leave me a review and let me know what you think. Thank you so much for reading. ~Lil~_


	2. That Keeps On Giving

_All right, here's the last bit of the story. Big thanks for all the reviews, faves and follows. Also, thank you MizJoley for betaing it for me. As with the first part, beware of the smut._

 _I own nothing. Enjoy ~Lil~_

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 **Chapter Two - …That Keeps On Giving**

He just needed to knock on the sodding door!

Sherlock shifted the bag from his right hand to his left. It suddenly felt too heavy and… wrong. But he did have Plan B if the gift should prove insufficient. ( _God, I hope it's insufficient!_ Plan B had the potential to be infinitely more pleasurable!) Of course if she _did_ like the gift, then Plan B could be easily incorporated into Plan A. But he was getting ahead of himself. There was the gift, then the _talking_ and the inevitable awkwardness (not the fun part, but needs must), after all that she might not be interested in Plan B. _What if she doesn't like the gift and it all goes sideways?_ He was starting to question his choice, but the salesman had said it was top of the line. Besides, he knew that Molly wanted one (hell, he wanted one!).

It had taken twelve days to work through 'the problem' and formulate 'the plan'. Now he was ready to follow through. Well, maybe _ready_ wasn't the correct word. Perhaps resigned? No, that sounded awful! He had to be positive and _not_ an arse. This was about confronting feelings and being an adult. Besides, he had the plan. _Believe in the plan_! he told himself. _It will work! It must._

He knocked.

"Sherlock," Molly said as she answered the door. "You're alive." She sounded somehow relieved, annoyed and unsure all at the same time.

Taking a moment, he looked her over. She was dressed casually in a tee-shirt and trackies. "Was I rumored to be dead again?" He laughed awkwardly.

Evidently she didn't find it amusing. "Well, I haven't seen you in…" her sentence died and her cheeks pinked.

"Twelve days, I'm aware. May I come in?"

After studying him for several seconds, her eyes pausing on the bag in his hand, she said, "Sure" then turned and led him into the flat.

He followed her into the lounge, placing the bag on the coffee table and sitting in his 'spot'. An uncomfortable constriction in his chest reminded him of his recent discovery as she chose to sit as far away possible from him in the ornate, seldom used, chair across from the sofa.

"So, how've you been?" he asked. _Small talk? Small talk wasn't part of the plan!_ Where the hell had that come from?

A confused looking Molly answered, "Ah, fine. And… you?"

"Satisfactory."

"Good." She eyed the bag again. "What's this? Been shopping?" She laughed as if it was an absurd concept.

Sherlock nudged it towards her. "A gift." Molly didn't react so he pushed it closer. "For you. It's a gift for you, Molly."

"What is it?" She looked at it as if it might bite her.

He forced himself _not_ to roll his eyes. "Open it and find out."

Picking it up, she placed it on the floor. After removing the tissue paper and tossing it onto the coffee table, she looked inside. With an adorably confused look on her face, she said, "A coffee maker?"

Sherlock got up and knelt at her feet, then pulled the large box from the bag. "Not just a coffee maker, Molly, a _Jura J90_. It's fully automatic, bean to cup. It's got a built in grinder! A thermoblock heating system _and_ foam frother!" She sat there, blinking, as Sherlock rapidly regurgitated every detail the sales associate had given in his attempt to make the sale.

He felt like an idiot.

"This must have cost…" she started.

"It doesn't matter what it cost, Molly." _Although, 1600 pounds must mean something… right, Molly… right? Come on!_

"Why on earth did you buy me such an expensive gift?" she asked, then realisation broke on her face. "Oh… My… God! Are you… are you trying to _pay_ me?"

"NO!" _Sort of._ "NO!" _Well, not really… more like butter you up. And if we happen to have use for it in the morning…_ "I... I just wanted to say thank you."

"You're _thanking_ me for a oral sex with a… a… coffee maker!?"

"Not just _any_ coffee maker." Oh, she was mad. _Abort! Abort!_ He had anticipated awkwardness, shyness, perhaps a coquettish smile followed by 'I can think of another way that you can thank me, Sherlock'. (If he was honest, that was the outcome he was hoping for.) "I assure you that this was not meant to offend."

"Well, it failed!" She got up and walked to the kitchen. "I don't want it!"

He followed, trying to think of a way to salvage the situation. When he got there he found her wiping her spotless counter with a clean dry cloth. "Molly…"

"No, Sherlock, let's just forget about this whole thing! It happened. Now we need to move on. No coffee makers, no awkward conversations, no…"

"So we're just going to pretend like it didn't happen?"

"Yes. I think that's the best thing we can do." She tossed the cloth down angrily. "Now, if you'll excuse me…"

She started to walk past him, but he stopped her, grabbing her wrist. "No. Not again," he said. _This_ was what had taken him twelve days to work out. He wasn't letting this opportunity pass them by. He'd wasted enough time.

"What do you mean, not again? I'm fairly certain that _this_ hasn't happened before. I'm pretty sure I'd remember."

He just stared at her, trying to work out what to do next. It was all falling apart. Plan A had failed (she was supposed to find the gift endearing and be flattered, allowing him to segue into the 'real' conversation). And they were just about as far away from Plan B as possible (the segue would have happened during the 'afterglow' with that plan).

He owed her so much. But more than anything he owed her the truth and she was going to get it. _I should have done this a long time ago. If I hadn't have been so bloody thick!_ "We need to talk," he said, releasing her.

"No we don't," she answered vehemently.

"Molly…"

Turning her back on him she said, "Sherlock, it was just a blow job! There's no need to discuss it!"

"Of course we need to discuss it. Not to mention…"

She spun around. " _No we don't_! Haven't you ever had casual sex before?!"

"Not with someone I'm in love with, I haven't!" he exploded. _NO! No, no, no!_ That wasn't the way he was supposed to say it.

Suddenly all the air seemed to leave the room. Several moments passed as the pair just stared at one another waiting to see who would break first. Molly won that round.

"I don't want that either!" she hissed.

"You don't want what?"

" _Lies!_ "

He moved closer, backing further into the kitchen. "How could you possibly think I'd lie about _that_?"

"You've done it before!" she replied coldly.

 _Of course, Janine._ How long was that going to haunt him? "This is different and you know it!"

She laughed as she turned around, bracing herself on the counter. "Just go, Sherlock. We're too keyed up to talk about this right now."

He wasn't leaving; if he did he was afraid of losing his momentum. They were finally talking about the important things. Not about the rate of decomp in drowning victims. Not about the state of the government or about Rosie's latest accomplishments. And not about fucking sushi! As much as he'd enjoyed talking about all those things, they were a poor substitute for what the two of them had been avoiding for the past three months (even if he hadn't realised it at the time). It would be finished this night, for good or ill. "No, Molly. We need to deal with this." It almost seemed unbelievable that he was the one pressing the issue.

She shook her head, but didn't respond.

Sherlock stepped forward. "I honestly didn't know why the thought of losing you made me violent." With a huff of mirthless laughter, he added. "And nearly violently ill. I didn't know until I said it." He paused. "No, that's not true either. I still hadn't processed it until these past two weeks. But I knew something was… different. You noticed too, didn't you?"

She didn't answer, just kept her back turned to him.

"You wondered why I was here all the time."

Silence.

He sighed. "I've eaten more meals with you in the last three months than I have with my parents since puberty."

Nothing.

"And you were different too. The kisses. Going to bed before I left. You were inviting me in, weren't you, Molly?"

She sniffled, but remained silent.

"After you walked out the other night I was confused, to say the least. Why did you do that? Why did you just leave? Tell me." He was still talking to the back of her head. He couldn't decide if it was making it harder or easier. Moving his hands to her forearms, he gripped them gently. "Molly, please look at me."

With slow deliberate movements, she turned and faced him. Her cheeks were flushed and wet. "I was leaving the option… open," she said, not looking up.

"I didn't work it out until a few days ago. But you'd been trying to guide me all along. And the foot massage..."

With a slow nod, she said, "Well, sort of. I… I really did just want to you relax, hoping that we could talk about everything. I wasn't trying to seduce you. I kept thinking you'd stop me."

"I wouldn't have stopped you even if the flat had caught fire."

Molly laughed at that, wiping her eyes and looking a bit more relaxed.

"You meant it, didn't you?" he asked. He knew that she loved him. He'd always known, even when he didn't want to think about it.

The change in topic seemed to throw her for a moment, then she caught up. "You know I did, Sherlock, that's why it… felt like it was killing me."

"I hate that it happened that way. I hate that I didn't know, that I didn't understand. And I hate how much it hurt you."

She smiled, her blush spreading down her neck, disappearing into her tee-shirt. "You're not lying though, are you? Right now. You meant what you just said about...?"

 _Now we're getting somewhere._ "I did."

She nodded. "'Kay." Then looked around the room.

 _Ah, this is what I expected_ , he thought as awkwardness settled between them. Several tense moments passed as Sherlock tried to reformulate his plan. Adjustments had to be made. Emotions were too high and Molly needed comfort and understanding (Plan B would most likely have to wait). He'd researched this. He could deal with it, thought it might be difficult (but the 'experts' had said it was important to 'be there for her'). This was no different than working a case. Often a new development would cause him to have to go in a different direction. Just the other day...

"Um, Sherlock," Molly said nervously. "Why a coffee maker?"

"It does more than make coffee, Molly, it…" At the narrowing of her eyes, his mouth snapped shut. "We can talk about the features later, I suppose." He cleared his throat and explained, "Well, I went to Harrods with the intention of finding you a piece of jewelry."

"You _went_ shopping?" She looked more than shocked; she looked gobsmacked.

"Indeed. But nothing I saw seemed to fit. A ring was out for obvious reasons," he said with a raised eyebrow. "Bracelets are trite. And who would wear a chain on their ankle? It just seems uncomfortable. I couldn't find the right earrings, they were all too garish. A necklace would have worked, but oddly enough they didn't have an anatomically correct heart. I hate those ridiculously shaped…"

He was cut off as Molly suddenly flung herself at him, wrapping her hands around his neck and pulling him down until their lips met. It happened so fast, he couldn't even react at first, but Molly was undeterred. She claimed him covetously, moving her hands into his hair, digging her nails into his scalp as she turned his head for a better angle. The tension broke explosively in a clash of mouths and teeth and tongues. There was no sweet lead up - no shy, chaste pecks - she simply devoured him and he did his best to catch up.

Her lips were so soft, yet commanding. Nothing like he'd expected prior to their time together nearly two weeks before. Since that day, however, his fantasies had taken a drastic turn. Where previously he'd imagined Molly to be yielding, malleable, always doing as he directed, ever since the foot massage of the gods, she'd become a sexy assertive temptress. He's spent a great deal of time 'thinking' about it.

He finally got his bearings, breaking away only long enough for a gasping breath, then he pulled her back to him. This time he took her bottom lip between his teeth, drawing it into his mouth before flicking his tongue over her it. His hands had found her hips all on their own, because he certainly hadn't commanded them to grip her tightly, holding her against him.

Pulling back and robbing him of those kiss plumped lips that he wanted to suck on all night, she said, "You actually _went_ shopping? You left your flat and _went_ to Harrods? Not Mycroft's assistant? Not John or Billy? You went on your own?" Her lips returned but this time to his neck. " _You! You! You!_ " she whispered between nibbles and licks.

After letting out an undignified moan (but really, who could be dignified whilst their neck was being mauled?), Sherlock tried to respond, only to have her lips stop his words (and thoughts and basic brain function). He wasn't sure why she was so turned on by his shopping excursion, but he wasn't one to look a Gift Molly in the mouth. _Mmmm, Molly's mouth..._

Plan B was in full swing! With a harder than intended thrust, Sherlock nudged Molly back until he felt resistance. He should have been embarrassed by how easily he'd become aroused. A few kisses (although very stimulating, very lovely kisses) and she had him dry-humping her like a teenager in heat. But he was too busy pushing her up against the counter, grinding himself into her belly seeking some kind of relief from his aching erection, to be concerned.

 _Slow down!_ he chastised himself. _Just because you're up for Plan B doesn't mean she's game! Get your cock out of her her navel!_

Molly's lips disappeared. "Have you always been this tall?" she whispered.

"Since I was about nineteen," he said, picking her up and setting her on the counter. "How's that?"

Wrapping her legs around his hips, she pulled him closer and pressed their centres together in the most pleasing manner.

She moaned followed by a breathy, "Brilliant!"

 _She's game! She's game!_ his mind shouted as her hands shoved his jacket off of his shoulders.

"I want this, Sherlock. Been waiting for so long." Her lips returned to his neck as she started in on his buttons and his mind wandered back to that night twelve days ago.

He had to slow things down or he'd never get to the _actual repayment_ (whatever followed was just a huge bonus!). "Molly," he said, taking hold of her hands. She looked a little alarmed, he had to dispel her worry, immediately. "It's my turn, don't you think?" It was less about control and more about reciprocation ( _okay, it was a tiny bit about control_ ).

She smirked. "I didn't realise we were taking turns."

"Yes… we are," he said with what must have been a devilish look on his face. His thoughts had taken a decidedly depraved turn at the possibility of seeing Molly Hooper in all her glory - of tasting her, having her completely - if all things went as planned. "First, as much as I'm enjoying this tee-shirt/trackie combo you're wearing today, it'll have to go."

Without hesitation, Molly moved her hands to the hem of her shirt. Sherlock stopped her. "No- no, that's my job." Slowly he pulled the garment over her head, revealing her sensible white cotton bra. "Sexy."

"Don't get cute. I had no idea you were planning this!"

"I wasn't being cute." Of course he was being cute. He's Sherlock Holmes for God's sake! "It's lovely, I'm just much more interested with what's underneath," he said as he reached around her to find the clasp. With a kiss to her neck then shoulder, he unhooked the closure (with a small snag, but he quickly recovered), pulling the garment from her arms as he drew back. _Oh, well, yes. There she is._ "Molly…"

She raised an challenging eyebrow and he realised that she was waiting for judgement. But she would get nothing of the sort from him!

Placing his hands on either side of her neck, he drew her back toward him, showing her his approval with his kiss. He grunted as her tongue found his, feeling his stomach lurch. This was what it felt like to kiss the woman he loved. To kiss not because of a case, or a manipulation or a quick shag, but the pure pleasure of it. Her naked breasts were momentarily forgotten in favour of her mouth.

A muffled moan escaped from her and he realised that he had pressed their chests together. He could feel the sharp points of her nipples through his shirt. Kissing across her jaw to her long, smooth neck, he found her pulse point and bit down. _Mine_ , his mind screamed, some throwback to a former incarnation of their species emerging. He suddenly understood the need some men felt to walk with their arm protectively clutching their girl's waist, to hold her hand, to shove their tongue down her throat in a room full of strangers, proclaiming 'this one's taken, boys!'. He wanted to get her a shirt that said ' _Property of Sherlock Holmes. Stay twenty meters away at all times!'_. The possessiveness of it should have been disgustingly off-putting, but right at that moment Molly squirmed and clutched at his shoulders and he decided she needed more love bites. As he sucked at her skin, drawing it into his mouth, leaving his mark, she called out his name and he smirked around her flesh. _That's right, Molly. Tell them who you belong to._

"I need you," she whispered when he started kissing his way down her chest. "Sherlock please. No foreplay. I just need you." Her voice was pleading, nearly desperate.

"Sorry, love. But I came here with a plan and I intend to execute it." His lips found her right nipple, sucking it into his mouth as he palmed the other with his hand. She felt perfect and he felt so powerful. Not like when he was solving a case and he felt drunk on power. Not like when he was high and he felt invincible. He felt like he was in command of her body. Like he would give anything to keep hearing those little pleading cries and moans.

"Oh God, Sherlock, that feels so good!"

He hummed before switching sides. The taste of her skin was not only delicious, but fascinating as well. Salty, sweet and slightly damp with sweat, Molly was like nothing he'd ever tasted before. He looked up from her breast. "Molly, there's more of you I want to put my mouth on."

"Fuck!"

"Your bedroom would be more comfortable."

"No! It's all the way down the hall. Here… do it here." She leant back and started shoving her trackies off.

That didn't seem hygienic, but he couldn't deny it was extremely hot. With a yank, he got the sweats off her legs, but stopped her when she reached for her knickers.

"We have all night," he said calmly. He was anything but calm. Inside he was a ball of hormones, nerves and excitement. "Lie back a little." Thankfully she was sat upon the island section of the counter giving them plenty of room.

She leaned back on her elbows and watched as he pulled off her pants. He kept his eyes on hers the whole time. It wasn't easy, he wanted to look down, see her most hidden places.

"I've been thinking about this," he said quietly, leaning in, stroking her cheek. "I want to give you something you'll never forget."

With a smile she said, "You already did."

"I knew you liked the coffee maker."

"Idiot!" she laughed.

Kissing her again, he cut off her laughter. "Relax and enjoy," he whispered.

He kissed his way down the centre of her chest, not letting himself get distracted by her lovely breasts again, until he found Nirvana.

Pressing her knees up and out, he stared. _Oh fuck!_ Nestled there between reddish-brown, neatly trimmed curls he found the most beautiful cunt he'd ever seen. Had he ever really thought of a woman's vagina as beautiful before? He didn't think he had. Parting her with two fingers, he took in the shine. Visibly wet and glistening, Molly's pussy looked magnificent.

His perusal must have taken too long because Molly spoke up, "What's wrong? What are you looking at?"

He couldn't tear his eyes away. "Haven't you ever looked before? It's… beautiful," he said before he could stop himself.

She giggled. "Is it really? No one's ever said anything."

He ran a finger through her folds, collecting some of her juices. "You're so wet."

"Oh, yeah. I _do_ get really wet sometimes." She sounded embarrassed.

Looking up confirmed his suspicion. "As if that's a bad thing," he said as he brought his finger to his mouth.

Molly opened her mouth as if to speak, but just stared instead.

He closed his eyes as he licked his finger and moaned. He needed more. Dropping his head, he drank from her. First he tongued her juicy cleft, flicking at her clit before moving further down to her entrance where the bounty was even more plentiful. Dipping his tongue into her, he felt her walls undulating slightly as she ground against his face. A constant supply of liquid slowly coming from her and he lapped it up. Drawing a quick breath, he went back to her clit, licking circles around the hard little nub, listening as Molly's breathing changed with each draw of his tongue. She was panting, whimpering, begging for more. He felt her hands on his head, scratching his scalp, rubbing it like an anxious phrenologist.

"Sherlock, please!" she begged, pressing his face into her cunt.

This was it, his big finish. Plan B of 'repay Molly Hooper for the best blow job in history' was about to come to fruition. He slipped a finger into her pussy and looking for the bumpy patch of tissue that he knew would help send her over the edge. After a little bit of searching, he found it and focused his attention there for several seconds before returning his mouth to her clit.

Thankfully he'd had a nice slow wank before his trip to her flat, because the sound, the feeling of Molly's orgasm might have sent him over the edge with her if he'd not prepared himself.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling hard, almost painfully (but hell, he liked it!) as she shouted his name. Her internal muscles constricted around his finger and he felt a very small gush of liquid as he continued to press against her g-spot.

"Jesus! Sherlock!" she gasped as he removed his soaked hand. "That was… I mean... I don't… there are no words."

He straightened from his crouched position, wincing at his sore back. _Well, I was bent at an unnatural angle._ Speaking of bent… He reached down and tried to adjust his erection as discreetly as possible then offered Molly his hand.

As she sat up she asked, "Can we move to the bedroom now? That was lovely, but my bum's cold."

"It was your idea," he said as he picked her up, setting her on the floor.

"I know. Come on."

He followed her lovely little naked arse down the hall into her bedroom. As soon as they got there, she had him backed against the closed door. "I want more."

" _Greedy_."

She ground her stomach against his hard cock. "I'm not the only one."

Her hands moved to the buttons on his shirt and he let his head fall to the door behind him, happy to let her have her way with him. When she got to his cuffs, she kissed each wrist before pulling his arms free. Taking his hand she led him to the bed and nudged him to sit down.

Kneeling at his feet, Molly removed his shoes and socks, the whole process reminding him so much of their previous night together. When finished, she stood between his knees and ran her fingers through his hair.

"It was a lovely gift, Sherlock, but unnecessary," she said as she cupped his face. "I'd love you even without that talented tongue." Her cheeky grin (or maybe it was hearing those words again, this time under much more pleasant circumstances) was his undoing.

Gripping her by the hips, he spun them both, pinning her to the bed. "I owe you more than a coffee maker and an orgasm," he growled. "And for more than the other night, Molly. I…"

She kissed him, demolishing his thought process and controlling him with her tongue. Molly wrapped her legs around his hips, mashing herself against his still clothed erection. He was overheating. Those trousers had to go, his cock was about to be permanently marred.

Sitting up a little to try to get some distance from her dancing hips, Sherlock reached for his zip. Molly was on him like Mrs. Hudson on a small business owner.

"That must be getting uncomfortable. I was going to take them off before your little flip!" Then finally, _finally_ she was pushing down his trousers. "Do you even own underpants?"

How was he supposed to answer questions at a time like this? "I do," he breathed as he kicked his legs free of the torturous trousers. "But I rarely wear them around you." Lowering his head, he tried to kiss her, but she pulled away.

"What?" she asked with a smile.

" _What_ , what?" _Why aren't we fucking yet?_

"You don't wear pants around me? Why?"

"You like to look at my arse." _And I like_ knowing _that you're looking at my arse._ _Why are we talking?!_

"And pants would impede that?"

"There'd be lines. I was being considerate."

Molly burst out laughing. _Okay, this is conducive for coitus…_

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…" she said as tears streamed out of her eyes.

Sherlock moved over and flopped onto his back with a sigh.

After about a minute the laughing died down and Molly draped herself across his chest, wiping her eyes. "Oh goodness. That was wonderful. Like a laughgasm. Okay, I'm better now."

He just stared at the ceiling.

"Don't be mad. It's adorable and so, _so_ you!"

He didn't speak. He couldn't.

"Please don't think I was laughing at you, I…"

"Who exactly were you laughing at, Molly, Benny Hill?"

She got up on her knees and straddled his hips. "Sherlock…."

He looked at her; naked, flushed, her hair a complete mess.

"You have to admit it was funny." She ran her nails down his chest, pausing to pinch his nipples.

A groan escaped his mouth.

"Are you not in the mood anymore?" she asked coquettishly.

Her pseudo-seductive act was amusing and he couldn't stop his lips from quirking up in a half smile.

"How about I admit something that I do and then we'll be even, 'kay?"

He nodded, but he was still slightly miffed.

Biting her lip, she leaned down until she was less than an inch from his ear. "I know you like it when I bite my lip, so I do it more around you. I've had to invest in a shedload of chap-stick because of all the 'lip gnawing', but it's worth it to see your eyes dilate just a fraction." Pulling back, she did it again and winked.

"Why… you little!" He flipped them again, holding her hands above her head. "From now on, that's my job, understand?"

"Yes _Sir_!"

He caught her lip between his teeth and bit down, then soothed it before slipping his tongue into her mouth. Molly grunted and tried to free her hands. _No, not yet._ Grinding his cock against her wet core, he regained the little bit of tumidity he'd lost during her chuckle session.

His lips moved to her neck, sucking on one of his marks. She was going to be so mad about that. He couldn't say that he cared; he'd buy her _all_ the scarves at Harrods if she liked!

Letting go of her wrists, he took hold of his cock and dragged it through her folds, it seemed to fill even more. _There is no way I have blood left in any of my extremities._

"Oh God yes!" she said with a sigh.

He aimed his cock into her heat. Not pausing, he slowly let her engulf him. She felt exquisite. Once he nudged her cervix, he stilled. "Molly…"

"I know, Sherlock. But you have to move!" she said through clenched teeth.

Pressing his lips to her shoulder, he started to thrust. Molly held onto his back, her nails digging into his skin as he drove into her. She planted her feet into the mattress and met him thrust for thrust. Time seemed to stand still or move forward too rapidly, he was unsure. His mind wasn't at exactly at its sharpest. Grunting with effort to hold off his end, he snapped his hips against hers.

Molly's, "Oh fuck!" was the only warning he got as she came, gripping him and wrenching his orgasm out of him.

His balls drew up, his spine tingled and his vision blurred. "I love you, Molly, I fucking love you so much!" he growled into her neck as he lost himself inside of her.

All his energy, his lifeforce, his very being seemed to have been leached out of him with his climax. He opened his eyes and realised he had basically collapsed on top of her. "Sorry," he said hoarsely as he rolled to the side.

"'S'alright," she replied sleepily.

"I hate to sound like a cliche, but I'm knackered." He actually knew why he was so tired. Besides the mind-blowing sex, he'd not slept well all week and he also suspected it had something to do with relief.

"Hmmm, me too." Molly turned and rested her head on his outstretched arm.

He pulled her closer until she was nestled on his shoulder, his hand drawing lazy patterns on her back. She kissed and nuzzled his pectoral muscle as they lay in silence.

After maybe twenty minutes she said, "Really, Sherlock? A coffee maker?"

"I didn't want to come over empty handed. And it's not just…"

"Yes, I know. Not just any coffee maker." She leaned up and smiled. "Show me how to use it in the morning?"

"All part of the repayment plan, my love," he said with a satisfied smile, kissing her forehead.

* * *

 _There we go! Please review me and let me know if you liked it! Hugs and Love ~Lil~_


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